Pride, Prejudice, & the Zombies of Video Game Wickedness

Recently, I forwarded a link about video games as an art form to my 18 year old son. I figured he would be pleased to see that his favorite leisure activity is now receiving official recognition from MOMA.  Since playing video games for a living is what he apparently intends to do as a career, articles of this kind give me a faint whiff of hope that somewhere, somehow, somebody might even pay him for it.

He thanked me politely, but was not particularly interested in any museum exhibitions, since, as he explained, by the time a video game hits a museum, everybody has already played it a thousand times and it’s become completely obsolete.

We did, however, have an interesting discussion on the subject of “Video Games As a Career Path.”  I pointed out that he is of the first generation that grew up as the industry itself was growing up, and, as a result, he has organically-acquired knowledge of the genre that I, who did not grow up with an Xbox in my room, would have to work doggedly to acquire, but still would not know as well as he does.  

“Look at it this way,” I said.  “You basically know video games the way I know nineteenth century literature.  You know the characters, the story lines, and the history of the games.  You can discourse knowledgeably about the aesthetics of each game, and you have the correct critical vocabulary to describe what works and what does not.”

This brought a smile to his (normally supercilious teenage) lips, and he allowed as how that was true.  Rendered magnanimous by my acknowledgement of his superiority in the Video Game Department, he volunteered, “You know, Mom, there’s a game you might even like.  It’s based on Heart of Darkness.”

“Ah?” I murmured encouragingly. (These moments of genuine meeting of the minds between us are fleeting and precious since he hit puberty; I treat them as though they were rare exotic blossoms that breath of air could shatter.)

“Yes.”  He grew enthusiastic.  “You see, it’s set in post-apocalyptic Iraq, and…”

I must have looked as appalled as I felt, for he hastily said, “You have to understand, Mom.  Good books make lousy video games.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I countered.  “Why would that necessarily be true?”

He sighed.  “Look.  In every game – well, not every game, but – the good ones – there's you, and then there are the minions, and your job is to knock the minions out of the way and by doing so, get to the next level and ultimately get to their chief and eliminate him.  You do that by killing them.  Most of the books you’re talking about don’t have enough people you can murder.”

“So you’re saying it’s kind of like a game of chess?  You have to eliminate the pawns so you can ultimately take the king?”

He brightened.  “Exactly!”

I thought it over.  “But why couldn’t you use that general concept with, say, a novel that’s – oh, I don’t know…a comedy of manners?  Like, for instance, say that the point of the game is for Elizabeth Bennet to get past all the obstacles and marry Mr. Darcy?”

My son looked pained. “Because that would be boring.”

I was indignant.  “No, it wouldn’t!  The pawns – the minions – they could be all the creepy women who don’t want Elizabeth to marry Mr. Darcy.  Like Mr. Bingham’s nasty sisters, and Lady Catherine De Bourgh.”

He thought about it.  “Could Elizabeth Bennet kill them?”

I was taken aback.  “Um – no.  No, I don’t think that would be in character for her.”

He shook his head.  “I’m sorry.  This isn’t gonna work,  unless Elizabeth Bennet can murder everybody in her path.  She needs to lop off those Bingham sisters’ heads with a machete, stab Lady Catherine with an ice pick, and show up in front of Mr. Darcy covered in their blood – then you’ve got a game.”

I was crestfallen.  But then I had a brainstorm.  “You know, somebody wrote a book called Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.  Maybe we could just put zombies in it?”

My son looked at me, kindly, but with infinite pity.  “I’m sorry, Mom.  It’s been done.” 

Seeing my downcast face, he added, even more kindly, “Pride and Prejudice… hmm.  Why do I know that name?  Was that a movie?”

I sighed.  “Yes.  Several times, in fact.”

“Was it a good movie?”

I thought of the week I had brought him home, newly born, from the hospital, and of how the A&E miniseries featuring Jennifer Ehle as Elizabeth and Colin Firth as Darcy – brand new at the time, just like my son - had enlivened those night feedings and made them bearable.  “Yes. Yes, it was...very good. And I remember how excited I was when the miniseries came out on videotape.”

The look of infinite pity was back.  Only now, it was accompanied by slow, incredulous head-shaking.

“Videotape.  Mom.  Do you ever listen to yourself?”

I slunk away, to sulk over a cup of tea and a copy of Evelina.